


what have we done with our lives, and where did it get us?

by diabhals



Category: 14th Century CE RPF, Edward II - Marlowe, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate History, Courtly intrigue, M/M, background isabella/mortimer, but not in the way you think, lancaster scheming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabhals/pseuds/diabhals
Summary: a king should be strong, they say; a king should be pious. flawless. at least able to control the nobles that circle him - but edward can't do it alone. with the help of his piers he has managed to hold on to a crown he never wanted in the first place - but when lancaster's scheming catches up him, edward is forced to face up to the reality of his reign, and fight for control on his own. [updates when this gremlin of a writer has time]





	what have we done with our lives, and where did it get us?

**Author's Note:**

> beware, alternate history and most likely bad french are coming your way (feat. drunk piers and hopeless gay ned plantagenet)

Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall and knight of the realm, was the wrong side of tipsy. That much Edward could tell from the way he stumbled over his English, Gascon accent becoming thicker than soup - and the fact that he hadn't said something unforgivable to Lancaster yet. Watching the knot of knights as they laughed and sung, a strange sensation began to curl around Edward's innards. Jealousy, he guessed, and anxiety, all sloshing around with far more alcohol than was possibly good for him; the end result was a kind of morbid nausea, forcing him to search for a distraction.

"Did you piss in this wine, Lancaster?" Piers' voice rang out, drunkenly loud (yet thankfully good-natured) across the chamber.

"I'm afraid I merely spat in it," said Lancaster, with the air of one who isn't entirely jesting, "Though I don't see why it should bother you - you've swallowed worse things for the king, have you not?"

Edward stiffened, noticing a hot flush creeping up Piers' cheeks. Whatever he was going to say next had the possibility to be either scandalous or extremely inflammatory; trying to catch his eye and dissuade him was a completely useless endeavour.

"Oui." Piers slipped into venemous French, getting to his feet unsteadily. "Je suis la pute du roi."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of all the things he could have said, Piers had to pick the absolute _worst_ , the proverbial cat amongst chickens. _I am the king's whore_. What was he thinking? To sign his own death warrant? People were beginning to mutter; Edward steeled himself for a Lancastrian explosion of vindicated rage. As a king and a husband it was his duty to refute such a _blatant lie_ , but all he could come up with was a strangled noise of surprise, his cheeks burning from embarassment.

Isabella began to laugh. At him, at Piers, he didn't know or care, but she was laughing all the same, _giggling_ like a little girl.

"It seems," she shrieked, when she finally drew breath, "Fair Gaveston has finally lost it!"

Whether it was meant as an insult or not, her remark managed to buy Edward the thing he needed: a distraction. The whole room was howling with laughter, no-one taking much notice as he left the dais and steered Piers into a nearby corridor.

"What. The hell. Was that?" he exploded, once they were out of earshot of Lancaster. "What were you thinking? Do you want to alienate everyone here?"

"S'your job, Ned," slurred Piers, too drunk to even stand without Edward's arm firmly around his waist. "Ali- alinatt- alien- _ugh_. Ca ne fait rien."

"You are a disaster." All Edward's anger melted away with one pitiful look from those damned cornflower-blue eyes. "Let me kiss you."

They fell all too easily into each other, as they had done a thousand times before: first gently, almost reverently, then hard and messy and _perfect_. Wine-stained lips met; bodies melded into one; everything else in the world slipped away except for Piers. His arms around Edward's neck, his long hair brushing Edward's cheeks, his lips, soft yet bitter tasting - nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS  
> Je suis la pute du roi - i am the king's whore  
> Ca ne fait rien - it doesn't matter


End file.
